Friday, 11 September 2009

A Cloud of Drunken Butterflies

Hullo ma wee blog,

I was walking the garden yesterday prior to giving the grass a weather delayed cutting. As I walked, with my hessian bag courtesy of a well known supermarket company, {recycling for the use of} I loaded up our windfall fruit. We have two apple trees, two plum trees and 3 pear trees. The apple trees, one dessert, one cooking apple, are holding on tightly to their treasures but saw fit to offer a dozen or so perfect samples, tightly packed with juice and now firmly promised to a hot oven and a crumble crust.

The plums are past now and have been gorged mainly straight off the tree with only a quick wash and a good book to accompany them.

The oldest pear tree is at the front of the house, a sole survivor of the orchard that was here before. She greets us on arrival and we drive under her branches to get to the house. An old lady now - don't ask - a gentleman would never discuss such things - she is not as vigorous as she once must have been. This year has been a good year for her though and she has been generous with her gifts. Again, a quick wash and savoured alone, or with some goats cheese and a touch of honey, a dry white wine and a crusty loaf. A la Languedoc.

The winds of the last few days have persuaded her to shed the last of her fruit and they have lain on the grass, fallen to join some that had gone before, and left forgotten and ignored, a job down the list somewhere until yesterday and my wee sack. As I approached I was enclosed in a cloud of twenty or more drunken butterflies who had not forgotten or ignored them but had been busy making the best of that fermenting fruit. I stood amongst them and laughed at the feeling of drunk insects reeling about me and the sight of half a dozen wasps so absolutely puggled that hard beating wings couldn't be controlled enough for flight and they rolled and nose dived about the grass. At least thats how it seemed. I dont actually know if insects can get miraculous. I did the good thing and raked the fruit to one side where they all can continue to enjoy the bounty of the old tree.

As you can see from the photo from one of the other trees there won't be a shortage of pears around here anytime soon.

See you later..........

Listening to Duffy.....'Mercy'


Morning's Minion said...

Just discovered you by way of Codlins and Cream 2 and thought I would stop by. Your post re the scattering of your fathers ashes is especially poignant as I was in New England 2 weeks ago to bury my 92 year old Dad.
I've always had an interest in things Scottish, although my forefathers were deported long ago for being on the wrong side in the Battle of Worcester.
I'll be back to read more--I've a fair grasp of Scots dialect but may not quickly understand when/if you're putting it on a bit.

Bovey Belle said...

Gosh MM - this is getting incestuous! Fancy meeting you here too!

Alistair - thanks for leaving the post on my blog. I thought I would come and be nosy over on yours to. Liking what I see . . . I'll away the noo . . .

Morning's Minion said...

I had to come back and re-read the post about the fruit trees--I like it. And yes, I think that a community of writers/readers with similar interests evolves--that's how I've found the blogs I follow.
Re your comment on a glossary: if you use a particularly obscure word or phrase that we "outlanders" can't get from the context, a starred translation below the main entry might be a help. On the other hand, I'm one who will go tracking down something that intrigues me--as in "bloaters."

The Sunday Posts 2017/Mince and Tatties.

Mince and Tatties I dinna like hail tatties Pit on my plate o mince For when I tak my denner I eat them baith at yince. Sae mash ...